


Hot For Teacher

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Duelist Harry Potter, Fluff and Humor, Good Dudley Dursley, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Harry Potter Raises Teddy Lupin, Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Other(s), Misunderstandings, Muscular Harry Potter, POV Alternating, Rough Sex, Secondary Theme: Book Fair, Sexy Harry Potter, Single Parent Harry Potter, Smitten Draco Malfoy, Smut, Teacher Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: Harry never thought Draco Malfoy would be the sort of man who could teach small children without poisoning them, but here he stands in the door of the Year One classroom. Harry must be living in an alternate reality, because not only is Draco good with small children Harry also finds him ridiculously attractive.Hell's officially froze.





	Hot For Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[24](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> Had a great time with this one, there's significantly less duelling and school teaching in it than I'd planned. Hope you lot will forgive me for that. Also, it's just good fun and mostly fluff. Or as fluffy as I get, hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Yes, that's a Van Halen song that I've ripped off for the title.
> 
> The art is not in my usual style, because I'm trying to get out of my comfort zones. Also, I read a lot of Sakyo Aya mangas (if you haven't salivated over her art you are missing out) and the image is def a poor recreation of one of her smutty scenes. Basically, she taught me how to smut draw XD

“I don’t want to go to school,” Teddy complains for the hundredth time that morning. “School is boring, I want to go with you.” 

“Not happening,” Harry replies, pulling out the cushions of the sofa to see if Teddy’s hidden his school bag under them. 

“Not there,” Teddy taunts. A terror if ever there was one, and Harry’s not the best at punishments so the child grows worse as the days go by. A mini-marauder, for certain. “You’ll never find it.” 

Huffing, Harry drops one of the thick cushions onto the wooden floor of his flat before he whips out his wand. It’s a simple enough flick of his wrist that brings Teddy’s school bag sailing down from the upper floor. 

Indignant, Teddy stomps his small trainer covered foot. “No magic! That’s unfair during treasure hunts.” 

“It’s fair when we’re running late." Harry laughs. Easily lifting Teddy over his broad shoulder. The little bugger kicks his long legs against Harry’s solid chest and stomach, but it is harmless compared to the blows Harry takes at work. More like a kitten trying to provoke him when he’s used to wrestling tigers. “Stop fighting, you’re going to school.” 

“Why, why can’t I be taught at home?” Teddy tries the fake sniffle Harry doesn’t buy for an instant. 

“Because I’m a shit teacher, you can go to school. You can learn and have fun in a class with other kids.” Harry believes he sounds reasonable. Teddy hanging limply over his wide shoulder means that Teddy doesn’t believe he’s being reasonable or fair. “Teddy, you liked Reception, yeah?” 

“No, it was awful. Year One is worser.” Harry doesn’t correct his grammar—he’s trying not to chuckle. His own primary experience was terrible. Bullies and a shit cousin, so there was a bit of anxiety when he’d first placed Teddy into Morgana’s School for Little Mages. An anxiety that dissipated quickly, for Teddy is well-loved. 

Teddy’s young problem is that he’s overly attached to Harry. An only child with a single parent—it’s not a stretch to say he’s spoilt rotten and is the centre of Harry’s world. 

“What makes school so awful?” Harry asks, after they’ve Apparated to the small village of Hogsmeade. Where one of the two primary schools are located—Harry had detested the idea of being in London more than necessary. He likes to live with as few interruptions as possible, and Diagon is still the one place he’s constantly badgered. So Hogsmeade was the safer of the two schools. 

“My professor is the worst,” Teddy complains, drawing Harry’s attention to where he’s still slung over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry missed parents night due to an out of town tournament, and Ron had covered that instead. Afterwards, all Ron had done was laugh anytime Harry enquired about Teddy’s new teacher. He half wonders if it’s Luna because she’s a bit strange and Ron always has a laugh about her. Though, he’s certain he’d remember if Luna was teaching children—Hermione would riot and it’s hard to miss when Hermione is up in arms over things. 

When they walk through the empty corridors—class already having started—Teddy grumbles. “I can walk myself.” 

“I don’t trust you—I’ve got to train and I don’t need to come back up here to search all of Hogsmeade for you.” 

“I don’t want you to meet.” Teddy’s voice is shrill, and Harry sets Teddy down. To better see his small face. 

“Why?” Harry frowns, concerned for the way Teddy is behaving. 

“You’ll be mad, like Uncle Ron was,” Teddy shouts, and his voice bounces through the corridor due to the emptiness around them. 

They are outside of one of four Year One classrooms. And the door opens before Harry can demand more information. There, in the doorway, stands a tall, willowy man with pale hair and sharp grey eyes. A usually plush peachy mouth is pinched tight in annoyance. “Mr Lupin,” a gentle, yet deep posh voice. “Class started twenty minutes ago, please come sit down and ask your tablemate to explain to you what we were discussing. If you don’t understand, I will help you after class ends and escort you home.” 

“Malfoy,” Harry breathes once he convinces his brain to work again. 

“Yes, Mr Potter, it is I.” There’s more sarcasm when he talks to Harry. But it lacks the complete hostility of their youth. “Now, if you don’t mind, you are interrupting my class.” 

“Um, yeah, of course...” Harry replies awkwardly. He pats Teddy on the head—his hair a dark brown for once. “I’ll see you after school.”

“Traitor,” Teddy mutters, mutinously. 

Surprisingly, Draco wears a gentle expression as he welcomes Teddy into the class. And Teddy has an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, but he doesn’t seem upset to be near Malfoy. Harry doesn’t have long to think about it because the door closes on him and from beyond the door he can hear Draco directing the class. 

*

Dudley is at the gym Harry has made his home away from home. The one that is near enough Diagon if Harry needs St Mungo’s and is located in Muggle London for his Muggle cousin’s convenience. He seems amused that Harry’s late again. A taunting sort of smile rests on Dudley’s thin mouth when Harry comes in through the heavy metal door. 

“Hiding in his nook again?” Dudley asks, his knuckles already wrapped for a spar. 

“No, the shit hid his school bag," Harry replies with an annoyed huff, digging his wraps out of his gym bag. 

A booming laugh pours out of Dudley’s thick throat. “He’ll be fun to see in the ring one day.”

“God, don’t get him on that. He’ll be convinced he can quit school.” A nightmare Harry would like to avoid, lest Andromeda rises from the grave to murder him. 

“Fatherhood suits you, mate,” Dudley says as Harry stands off to the side wrapping up his knuckles. 

“I don’t know how good I am at it, all I can do is hope to Hell that I don’t screw him up.” To be honest he has so much fear when it comes to being a parent. So much anxiety. Though, to hear his aunt and Molly talk about parenthood makes him think the rest of his life will be full of these absurd fears. 

As if reading his mind Dudley says, “C’mon, Harry. Let’s go a few rounds and work off the worry.”

*

After, when he’s sweaty and exhausted, he goes home to the flat he’s got in Greenwich. The one he settled on when Teddy was just over a year old and Andromeda’s broken heart finally gave her over to death. Grimmauld Place was a tomb— one best left undisturbed. So he’d decided on a semi-detached home off Humber Road. 

More accurately, Hermione decided on the home. Harry was busy trying to balance the life of having a baby full time, vetting nannies, and competing for the title of champion at the first of many cage duelling competitions Harry would enter. 

So far he’s never taken the top title, but he’s been in second place for the past three. He’s determined this will be his year. 

_ I’m going to beat Malcolm Ferris and take that golden fist clutching a wand. _It’s the mantra he silently repeats to himself as he comes in through the front of the house. It’s cheery red door a welcome sight, and even more welcome is the large black dog that comes galloping up to greet him. “Did you miss me, Septimus?” 

Septimus bays in response, falling in step with Harry as he makes his way up to the top floor of the home. Bloody dog lies on the tile of the bathroom while Harry has a shower, and he’s too tired to try and force the dog out. So he leaves the door to the bathroom open and discards his clothes in a pile on the floor before he climbs beneath the hot spray coming from the showerhead. 

Dudley worked him hard this morning and again in the afternoon after they had a protein-heavy lunch. Harry’s veins are ropy beneath his skin—visible in his forearms and today one is visible on his right bicep. It’s startling, still, to know that his body is far beyond what it was when he was still a slim, underfed looking brat. Harry’s still slender, but he’s muscle thick and powerful. Not pasty and unfortunate looking like he was up until he turned nineteen and started training with Dudley. 

He’s got the sort of body that makes people in anonymous Muggle spaces shoot him appreciative glances, ones that show their interest and willingness. Yet, it’s been a long time since Harry’s had the time for a tumble in bed with a stranger. Longer still since he’s had a romantic partner to share his life with. Ginny was great, but they both felt there was something lacking in their sexual compatibility. She wanted one thing and Harry another, so they parted amicably for a second time. Then Teddy came along and Harry’s not willing to have people in and out of Teddy’s life while Harry’s trying to figure out what he wants. Hence his lacking in the romance department. 

He leans his head against the glass of the shower, thinking he wants someone to look at him with desire. 

Someone to look at him the way Malfoy is looking at him now.

He startles and shouts, “Malfoy!” Slipping against the tile in his shower and has to catch himself against the wall to avoid falling. “How the devil did you get here?” 

“The Floo,” Draco replies, averting his eyes. “I told Teddy I would bring him home after class because I wanted to discuss something with you.” 

“So you let yourself into my bathroom—stare at me starkers—because you want to talk about my kid?” He’s trying to sound angry and not mortified, and Harry’s not sure if he’s succeeding. 

“Teddy thought you were sleeping and sent me up,” Draco replies with a bit of the old venom Harry remembers from school. The embarrassed flush in his cheeks is new, however. “I didn’t realise you’d be naked.” 

“Right,” Harry says. “If you don’t mind, then...get the fuck out while I get dressed.” 

Surprisingly, Draco obeys without reply. 

*

Downstairs, once he’s in a pair of fresh joggers and a t-shirt, Harry finds Draco setting an afternoon snack down in front of where Teddy is swinging his thin legs against the counter. It’s all rather domestic and strange. 

“I wanted a frozen pizza,” Teddy grumbles but still picks up his fork to spear a slice of banana. 

“That’s not at all healthy,” Draco replies. “Perhaps if you eat this without complaint I will make you a proper pizza.” He manages to say this without sounding condescending. 

“I won’t eat it if it’s covered in vegetables,” Teddy warns with narrowed hazel eyes. Ron would be proud of his cheek if he were here. 

“How are you going to grow up to be buff like Potter if you don’t eat vegetables?” Draco’s words make Harry choke on the air but they both ignore his minor coughing fit. 

“Magic,” Teddy deadpans, and Harry can tell Draco’s trying hard not to laugh. 

“Always so clever,” he says—once Draco’s got control of his amusement. 

*

Teddy, despite his claims that his teacher the worst, seems to enjoy Draco a great deal. He’s all too eager to show Draco his set of colour quills and the weird scribble he claims is a dragon that he’s invented into existence. 

Draco, still the smart-mouthed brat, says, “Ought to ring up Lovegood for a job at her batty paper.” 

Harry snorts while Teddy watches Draco with a confused look. One that drags long enough to be uncomfortable, so Draco says, “Right then, dinner? Then your Potter and I need to have a bit of a chat.” 

Teddy darts a glance between them, eyes shifting to a violent pink—a sure sign of worry—so Harry draws him into a gentle hold. “Nothing bad, Mr Malfoy is probably very worried over the fact you keep coming to school late.” 

“Indeed,” Draco responds. “I just need to have a chat with Potter about how we can make sure you get to school on time. It’s for your success because every adult in this room wants you to reach full potential.” 

His mannerisms and way of speaking are nothing like the Year One teacher Harry had as a child. Ms Baxter had been all young, full of zeal and maternal warmth. She used one of those childish tones, gentle and sometimes too soft as if she was of the belief that children were glass. Draco is nothing of that. He talks to Teddy as if he’s intelligent enough to understand ideas most adults don’t believe children are capable of understanding.

“Okay,” Teddy shrugs, but Harry can see the relief in him. The way his eyes and hair shift to their usual colours. 

It’s strange to think Draco holds this ability to calm a child. Harry remembers when he was still a snivelling child himself. 

Intrigue begins to develop in Harry, growing as he watches Teddy and Draco stand at his kitchen counter to make pizza. 

Draco 

  
  
Potter’s eyes are a fiery caress against his skin. The way they map his every movement has Draco growing warm beneath the collar. What doesn’t help is the memory of Potter in the shower—water sluicing over the hard, golden muscles of his body. Everything about Potter’s body is immaculate. Larger than Draco remembers him being in youth and it makes Draco’s own body yearn for a touch. 

“I hate green stuff,” Teddy complains from where he’s seated—next to Potter at the small dining table. 

“It’s good for you,” Potter replies. His gaze shifts from Draco to Teddy, making Draco feel like he can breathe properly for a moment. 

“Just eat it, mate,” Potter tells him, biting into his own pizza with big pretty teeth. Draco fights rather hard to keep from imagining them pressing into his skin. He stares longer than socially acceptable and Potter shoots him a taunting grin. “Didn’t peg you as the domestic type, Malfoy. I was convinced you’d blow up my kitchen in an attempt to cook.” 

Despite himself, Draco snorts, before he says. “You forget, Potter, of the two of us I was adept at Potions.” He affects an air of casual indifference as he shrugs. “It’s the same concept.” 

*

Dinner ends without incident, then Potter directs Teddy to head upstairs for a bath. The child goes with a pout—no doubt upset that he’s not being included in their discussion. 

Once he’s gone from sight, Potter flicks his wrist—casting a silencing charm around them. The feel of his magic is electric as it caresses Draco’s exposed skin. “So, Malfoy, is this where you tell me I’m a shit dad?”

Draco clears his throat. Trying to regain a sense of calm. “No. It’s where I ask you why Teddy’s not fond of coming to school? I assume you aren’t the reason he’s late every day.” 

Potter crosses his arms and leans against the bannister of the stairs—a thoughtful expression on his face. “He says you’re the worst.” Then after a moment of consideration—while that revelation barrels into Draco—Potter continues. “Though, I must admit that you don’t seem that terrible. Considering I remember when you _ were _ the worst wanker.” 

Draco manages a grin at that and gives a hum of thanks. All the while he thinks about what he could’ve done to upset Teddy enough to not want to come to school. He can’t recall—beyond the mild tift he had with Weasel when he brought Teddy to parents evening. Which had been tame when one considers the fights they’d had during their own school years. “Perhaps I’ve frightened him in some way.” He frowns, upset because this is his first year teaching at Morgana’s and Draco’s feeling useless. 

“Look, I’ll talk to him. He’ll tell me eventually and when he does we can sort it then.” Potter is oddly pragmatic about the whole situation—something, Draco had not expected when he brought Teddy home. 

Draco accepts that decision, “Fine. Owl me when you’ve figured out the problem and I’ll do what I can to fix it.” 

Potter promises he will with an amused chuckle and tells Draco to get home safely as he follows him to the front door. 

It’s odd and a little bit thrilling. 

*

Draco doesn’t go home immediately after Potter’s. Pansy invited him out earlier in the week, and he needs a drink to soothe his bruised ego. _ Teddy Lupin hates me. _ Which is probably some divine punishment for the way he used to treat Teddy’s natural father. Adding to his overdue karma is the memory of all the horrible things they used to chortle about at family dinners—the ones where they talked of the cousin born to Aunt Andromeda, the one who was _ defective _ to his family despite her outstanding abilities. Beautiful Dora who Draco never had the pleasure to meet. The only time he’d laid eyes upon her face had been when she was a lifeless corpse in the Great Hall. 

A shudder runs through him. 

These are the thoughts that plague Draco as he walks into the posh bar Pansy insists on frequenting. Draco only indulges her because he always brings home a delicious conquest from their nights out. 

He’s a man starved for intimacy. As such, Draco doesn’t turn down the offered invitations—the ones that come with long, meaningful stares and a promise to feel. 

Tonight is no different as he joins Pansy at the usual corner in the back. Men approach them and he waits until one sparks enough want in him that he accepts. Only, Draco’s finding it difficult to choose this evening. He’s even finding it difficult to focus on what Pansy is saying. His mind is too preoccupied with Potter and his adopted son, Teddy, to focus on the gossip about that horrid cow Millicent. 

As night travels past dusk and moves into to dawn, Pansy finally snaps. “What’s with you tonight? That bloke you’ve been eyeing for weeks came over to grin at you with his stupid smile and you’re too spaced out to show any interest.” 

“Potter,” he begins, but Pansy cuts him off with a loud huff. 

“I should’ve known,” her whisper manages to be shrill. Pansy’s got a talent for being a dramatic one. “It’s always Potter when you get like this. What did he do now, hmm?” An annoyed moue twists her mouth. “Did he put his cock in some new tart and you’re all sad he’s not shoving his small prick in you?” 

“It’s not small,” Draco replies before he can think better about the consequences of those words.

Predictably, Pansy’s mouth drops open in ghastly surprise. True shock. Not just her faux-horror that she plays up when they are surrounded by others. “When did you fuck Potter?” she demands with a low hiss—once her wits return to her. 

“I haven’t,” Draco sighs while he reaches for his scotch and soda. 

She snorts. “Either you’ve fucked him so you know his prick isn’t tiny, or you just don’t like me insulting your precious Potter. So which is it?” 

Draco chuckles against the cool lip of his glass and takes a purposefully long sip. He’s going to make her fester while she waits for his answer. 

“Well?” she demands, voice going shrill again after he sets down his drink. 

Making as casual a shrug as he can manage, Draco says, “Neither. I happened to walk in on him when he was having a shower.” 

“And you didn’t jump in with him?” She is delightfully scandalised. 

“No, I didn’t. His son was downstairs waiting for us.” 

“Should’ve shooed the brat off to Weasel so you could make a go of it between the sheets.” Draco shakes his head at her—fond despite himself—and tells her she’s a cunt. “Best cunt you’ve ever known, darling.” She smiles back with a razor grin. 

“Only one I’ve ever known,” Draco replies with a snort. “And I think it traumatised me enough, thank you. So, stop bringing that up.” 

Pansy ignores him, grabbing the bottle of champagne from their ice bucket to pour herself another generous glass. After a long drink of it, Pansy jumps back into the conversation. Zeroing in on the one thing Draco doesn’t want to discuss—Potter’s cock. “Tell me about it, then—this not small cock of Potter’s. Was it long and thick and sinfully pretty?” 

She’s his only friend who doesn’t tease him for believing a prick can be pretty. Probably because she’s a scandalous tart who agrees. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Delightfully perfect. Of course, when isn’t Potter perfect?” 

With a judgemental expression, Pansy informs Draco that he’s the only one who has ever found Potter to be perfect. “You’re absolutely mad, darling. A complete fool. Hopelessly in love with a buffoon.” 

Draco shakes his head—recalling the way water had slid over the hard lines of Potter’s tan skin, the powerful veins in his forearms and hands as he’d washed himself. Draco had bit his lip hard enough that he could taste blood, but now he’s grateful for his restraint. Imagine whimpering—embarrassing himself in front of Potter in such a manner. 

It’s a horrifying thought. 

“Well, love,” Pansy says after a silent spell. “Now you’ll never have the chance to play with Potter’s pretty prick.” 

He chuckles. Knowing that he’s blessed to have even seen Potter’s cock—it’s too unrealistic to believe that he could be lucky enough to ride the damned thing. 

Harry 

“Of course Teddy hates him, he’s a fucking prat,” Ron says over lunch at the pub. “Do you remember how that shit was to Remus?” Ron takes a deep draw of his pint, leaving foam behind on his moustache—Harry grins at the image he creates. 

“I haven’t forgotten, Ron.” Harry settles back against the high back of the booth they are in. Rosmerta has long since gone from The Three Broomsticks, but her portrait remains above the bar—winking at patrons and calling out sweet words. Harry stares at the portrait now, thinking of how much has remained the same and how much has changed. “Maybe he’s different?” Harry offers after a long silence. 

Ron snorts. “Doubtful. Snakes might shed their skin, but they never change their colours.” When Harry doesn’t readily respond Ron sighs. “I don’t know what you want me to say, mate. I hate Malfoy, and there’s not much that will change that. But,” he adds with a thoughtful look, “I am willing to be civil and open to locating the real source of Teddy’s anxiety about school. _ If _ you’re absolutely sure Malfoy isn’t being a wanker to Teddy.” He takes a breath, hardening his expression—looking like a fearsome ginger Viking due to the thick beard. “If he _ is _being a shit, I’m going to go up to Morgana’s and pound him into the ground with my bare hands.” 

Harry grins. “You’re a good uncle, Ron.” 

“The best.” Ron boasts as he puffs up his chest. 

*

They end their lunch close to the time Teddy is due to finish school for the day, and Ron waves to Harry before he leaves. “Don’t want to beat Malfoy before I’ve got good reason to,” he says with a tone that makes Harry laugh. 

“Go on, kiss Rosie on Hermione’s belly for me and give Hermione my love.” 

“Will do, mate. And I’ll let you know when the next Cannons match is. We can take Teddy.” 

“Let me know, I might be working. But if I’m not, I’m interested in going.” Harry’s still waiting on the final schedule for the preliminaries. Once those are done he will have a month, perhaps, before the tournament begins. Then it’s anyone’s guess when he’ll have time to play at proper parent. 

“Either way I’ll take Teddy,” Ron promises and with a last goodbye he finally Disapparates. 

It’s not a long walk from The Three Broomsticks to Morgana’s, but Harry takes his time with it. Wanting to keep from standing uselessly around while waiting for the final bell. Too many times already women have tried chatting him up, and a few blokes or they’ll try to profess their undying gratitude. Which can be overwhelming and anxiety-inducing. A lot of the time, those interactions cause him to be wracked with survivor's guilt. Something he experiences daily when he sees Teddy’s face—Lupin’s kind eyes and Tonk’s smile. They torment him in quiet moments—moments he hides from Teddy as best as he can, but they are still there. Suffocating and heavy. 

Now, as the children come rushing out of the doors—with teachers calling out for them to be careful and not run—he spies Teddy. At that moment his heart is full. Teddy’s wide smile is one full of joy and one that knows no suffering. So, despite tragedy, he is well adjusted and that makes Harry feel so incredibly happy. 

_ I’m doing for him what Sirius could not do for me_, he thinks as he bends down to allow Teddy to jump into his hug. 

“Mr Malfoy said I had the best spelling out of the entire class,” Teddy shouts excitedly. Too loud in Harry’s ear, but he doesn’t chastise the small boy. Teddy’s too happy about being excellent at something, and Harry is proud of him for his accomplishment. “I asked him to take me out for ice cream since I did so well,” Teddy says. 

That causes Harry to frown. “Teddy. You can’t ask your teacher to take you to get ice cream.” 

“Why not?” Teddy demands with his own frown—his more pout than stern like Harry’s. 

“Because he’s not a friend, he’s a teacher. If he does it for you he has to do it for all the kids.” A reasonable enough explanation. 

Teddy’s scowl deepens, “I thought he was your friend?” 

_ Hardly _, Harry thinks, but says, “I mean...we went to school together. That doesn’t make us mates.” 

“Mr Malfoy said you were friends,” Teddy huffs. 

_ Fucking Malfoy. Lying ass wanker. Trying to make me the bad guy and the liar. _“Well, I guess...sort of, sure,” Harry replies awkwardly. Not sure how to undo Malfoy’s mess. 

“So, that means we can go to ice cream with him.” Teddy declares as if the matter is settled. Harry doesn’t argue. He’s wondering how he can convince Ron to go for ice cream in his place.

Hell would have to freeze first. 

*

Dudley’s the one who suggests Harry go out for the evening. “Look, mate,” he said earlier in the afternoon. “I don’t usually suggest this sort of workout, but you need to get out there and get fucked.” 

Harry had, naturally, blanched at the suggestion. But Dudley was insistent, saying Harry was full of frustrations that needed minding before he hurt someone. He had destroyed a punching bag that was magically warded for this sort of training. Which must’ve been the last straw for Harry’s cousin. 

So, here he is, in someplace Seamus suggested when he’d rang him up after his workout. 

It’s a posh bar with one of those black tie-wearing piano players, dark red velvet walls and ambient lighting. The drinks are all top shelf, and Harry bemoans the lack of his preferred Hobgoblin. At the bar he orders a neat scotch. As he waits, Harry glances around at the other patrons. They all look like a bunch of wankers, but he’s not here to find true love. Harry’s here to fuck someone and get on with his life. 

Though no one sparks his interest. So he turns, dejected, back towards the bartender—deciding to not look while he waits for his drink. 

There’s no wireless giving play-by-plays of any matches, and Harry hates the slow, boring jazzy sound that’s coming from the pianist. He removes his glasses, setting them against the bar before rubbing his fingers over his tired eyelids. When he picks up his glasses, intending to put them on and leave, a familiar voice sounds from a table nearby. 

“I don’t care, Pansy, I’m not going to go on a date with that bloke.” Harry whips around, finding a rather annoyed Draco Malfoy glaring at a woman who is a far cry from the Pansy Parkinson Harry remembers from school. She’s rail-thin now, with short black hair, fuller lips and higher arched eyebrows. Also looks like she got her pug nose fixed sometime since he’d last had the displeasure of her company. 

“Why not,” she asks Draco after lighting a cigarette. Her red nails long and sharp—Harry’s half afraid she’s going to scratch Draco’s eyes out with those nails when she narrows her eyes at Malfoy. “You were saying you like them tall, broad, and dangerous. I found you someone who fits that description.” 

Malfoy sighs, “Dangerous as in looks like he could win a fight, Pansy. Not dangerous as in he will hold me down and fuck me against my will if I change my mind.” 

“Rape jokes are crass, darling,” she says as she blows a cloud of smoke in Draco’s face. 

“I didn’t mean it to be a joke. The man has been to prison for that before,” Malfoy shrills at her. 

Aloof as ever, Pansy shrugs. “Well how was I supposed to know?” 

Draco snorts at her but doesn’t reply. He starts fiddling with his martini glass with long, slender fingers. Delicate hands, Harry notices as he watches them move. 

“Draco,” Pansy says with a kinder voice, “if I could convince Potter to fuck you I would.” Which is not something Harry expected to hear in a posh bar while shoddy jazz plays softly in the background. 

“It’s all right, Pansy. I’ve never entertained the idea of that anyways.” 

_ Too bad, _ Harry thinks as he watches Draco chew at his full bottom lip, _ I’m not terribly averse to the idea. _

Draco 

Draco is rarely surprised these days, but he’s surprised when Potter walks over to his and Pansy’s table some ten minutes after Pansy tells Draco she’s sorry she can’t get Potter to fuck him. If Pansy had that sort of power she’d be in business for life and wouldn’t have to rely on the old, perverted fucks who fund her sugar-baby lifestyle. Though, to be fair, Pansy enjoys her lifestyle as a kept mistress for many men. Draco’s offered to hire her with some useless title for his estate and she’s turned him down. _ It’s not as thrilling if I work a boring job for you, love. Let me enjoy my youth. _

“Darling,” Pansy shrills at him. Calling Draco out of his rapid, anxious line of thoughts, into the present where Potter is sitting across from him in an outfit made for sinning. Dressy but casual. Potter is in all black—his button-up shirt open at the collar and his sleeves rolled up his strong forearms, exposing those delicious ropey veins lying beneath his golden skin. Veins Draco wants to map with the point of his tongue. “You’re drooling.” Pansy’s voice is a soft puff of a damp whisper, tickling his ear. He swallows with shame when he notices Potter watching him. 

“Why’re you here?” Draco asks—a rude question but he’s still reeling and his brain hasn’t puzzled out why he shouldn’t ask such a thing. 

“I came to find someone to fuck,” Potter replies, after a sip of his scotch. 

Draco nearly swallows his own tongue. Pansy—horrid cow—crows in delight. “Oh, really? What sort of partner are you looking for, Potter?” Here she presses her arms together, squishing her ample bosom between them in an obscene and obvious invitation. “I’m sure we can find something to suit your tastes.” 

Potter’s ridiculously green eyes pin Draco, drilling into him with an intensity that makes him shiver with want and delight. “I like blonds,” Potter says with a cocky grin. One that makes Draco’s prick twitch in excitement. 

“Blonds?” Pansy positively purrs. Beneath the table, she jabs Draco’s calf with the sharp point of her heel. “I’m sure we know a blond or two don’t we, Draco? Anything else that catches your fancy, Potter?” 

“Sharp cheekbones.” Again his eyes stare through Draco and Draco doesn’t know if Potter’s eyes are large or if it’s the lenses of his glasses making them appear larger. Either way, he finds them mesmerizing. 

“Anything else?” Pansy prods with the kind of tone that drips with obnoxiousness. 

Potter’s hands move to Draco’s wand hand, touching one of the knuckles in his finger before running gently along the soft skin at the side. “I like elegant hands,” Potter murmurs. The same gaze tracking Draco’s face as Potter’s callous rough hands dance over Draco’s sensitive skin. Then his fingers move up the back of Draco’s hand, before Potter gently closes his hand around Draco’s wrist. “I love delicate features, and sharp features—something erotic lies in contrast.” 

The way he caresses Draco is akin to sex, and Draco is hard in his trousers when Pansy’s voice shocks him from the moment he’s sharing with Potter. “So which would you prefer, Potter?” She asks with a musical lilt, “A wet, willing fanny or a hard, slick prick?” 

“Depends,” Potter says, eyes gauging Draco for a reaction when he speaks. “I’m into either, so long as I’m with someone who is willing to have me fuck them thoroughly.” Draco’s hole throbs at the thought of Potter’s big cock ramming into him—reaching the deepest parts of him and before he can stop himself he whimpers out a desperate yes. “Yes?” Potter asks, a knowing grin as he asks another question for confirmation. “Yes, what, Malfoy?” 

“Yes, I want you to fuck me.” Draco pants out the words—hard and so ready. “God, yes, I want you to fuck me so hard I feel you for weeks.” 

“I think I’m up to the challenge.” Potter smiles. Then, at Pansy, he nods. “Parkinson, next night out he should have a good story for you.” 

“Darling, don’t tease if you can’t deliver,” Pansy taunts. 

*

Draco brings Potter back to his flat. He’s not sure he could follow through with fucking Potter in his home where all the reminders of Teddy are. School books, toys, and things scattered—Draco can’t risk wanting all of that life with Potter, when Potter is in him. 

He has to take this for what it is. A one-off—nothing more than his schoolboy fantasy come to life. 

“What do you want first?” Potter asks with a low, guttural tone that makes Draco’s heart race. 

He bites his lower lip, afraid of speaking his desires, but Potter invades Draco.

“Tell me what you want,” Potter commands as he moves closer. His strong hands gripping the back of Draco’s neck. Holding him with a firmness that makes Draco shudder with want. 

“Everything,” Draco confesses. 

Potter’s grin is feral. 

Harry 

Malfoy lies beneath him. White skin flushed a dark, rosy colour as his long, delicate fingers dig into the expensive duvet covering Draco’s fancy bed. 

He’s delicious. 

Needy and eager as Harry fingers him—teasing Malfoy, trying to make him beg, but he doesn’t. Draco accepts everything Harry does to him. 

A perfect toy. 

One Harry could get addicted to, he discovers when Draco arches towards the deep, branding bites Harry puts into his easily bruised skin. “More,” Draco husks, as Harry sucks a dark lovebite into the skin at the bend between Draco’s leg and groin. 

_ May the next man know I had you first. _ A thought that invades Harry as he bites Draco again, sucking more marks into his skin while his fingers explore the hot, tight heat of Draco’s willing arsehole. 

“Potter,” Draco gasps. His hands moving to Harry’s unruly hair when Harry’s mouth swallows down Draco’s cock. “Fucking hell,” Draco keens, rocking his hips while Harry’s mouth creates filthy noises. Noises that every porn doesn’t quite manage to recreate—there’s something authentic in this messy filth. 

The way Draco’s breath hitches when he’s close—it’s something none of them can fake well enough for Harry’s tastes. Makes his wanks unfulfilling when he tries to get into them, but Draco makes the sort of noises he wants to capture. The sort of sounds he wants to listen to forever while pulling on his cock beneath the hot spray of his shower. 

Harry pulls off of Draco before he can come, making him _ mewl _ and Harry’s cock twitches at the sound. 

“I’m going to fuck you to orgasm, darling,” he tells Draco with a lusting growl. 

“Promises, promises.” Draco tries to play coy. The effect is ruined by his breathy tone and the high flush in his skin. He’s too eager to pretend to be glib. 

Draco

Potter holds his wrists with a bruising grip—keeping Draco from touching his own cock as Potter sets a sure, fast rhythm. In and out, his long, thick cock glides into Draco with a delightful stretch. One that might ruin him for other cocks if Potter keeps proving he’s the best at everything. 

Draco’s feet are locked at the small of Potter’s strong back, helping to keep the wonderful angle. One that helps Draco feel the build of orgasm. He cants his own hips, wishing for the slightest bit of friction. Potter’s hard abs provide little help. 

“If you were fatter I could rut against you,” Draco gripes with a shaky, desperate tone. 

Potter’s response is a low chuckle. One that’s just this side of dangerous, “Didn’t peg you for the sort who likes to fuck fat blokes.” 

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco hisses. Then gasps when Potter thrusts harder—_ deeper _—a pleasure that borders on painful. 

“What was that, Malfoy?” Potter asks with a teasing tone. 

“Again,” Draco begs. Tightening his legs around Potter’s waist as he digs his short nails into Potter’s biceps—clinging in every way he can. 

Draco wakes when sunlight shines over his closed eyelids. His body aches—remnants of a night spent at the mercy of Potter’s lust. 

Potter who is suspiciously absent when he rolls over in his large bed. Finding it cold to the touch, and something in him mourns the loss of Potter’s heat. 

Once Draco’s in his robe he goes downstairs—a small part of him hopes to find Potter in the kitchen. Making a fry-up or even a cup of tea. 

Unsurprisingly, Draco is disappointed to find his kitchen empty. 

Cold. 

The way his bed was when he woke. 

“What did you expect, Malfoy?” he says to himself, embittered by his own foolishness. “Heroes like Potter don’t make boyfriends out of scum like you.” 

Harry

Dudley nods in satisfaction when Harry finishes his drills with the magicked mannequins—without destroying them beyond use. “Guess my suggestion worked, Potter.” Dudley chuckles when Harry jogs over to him to accept the bottle of water Dudley has for him. “Today you didn’t wreck my fucking gym.” 

“Was too busy wrecking someone’s bed the other night, must’ve got it out of my system,” Harry chuckles back. 

“Well, if it works this well you need to get out and pull more often,” Dudley says as he takes a seat on the bench beside Harry. “Or get married, then you don’t have to pull.” 

“Can’t fuck a partner the way I like to fuck my one-offs, mate.” Harry leans back against the cool brick of the wall. 

“So long as they don’t come up missing or dead, Potter, I don’t want to know what you mean by that.” Dudley—bastard that he is at times—is almost as loyal as Ron. Something that always manages to surprise Harry, even though Dudley’s been his trainer for years. 

“I’m not into anything that kinky, mate, but I appreciate the unspoken offer of an alibi,” Harry says as he shakes his head fondly. 

“Someone’s gotta look after you. Might as well be your older cousin.” Dudley chuckles. 

“You’re like a month older than I am.” Harry laughs. 

“Still makes me the boss, Potter,” Dudley points with one of his thick fingers. A stern expression on his large face. “Now, get back in that ring. Time to run more drills.” 

“Whatever you say, _ boss. _” Harry shakes his head, downing more of his water before he gets up to do as told. 

*

Fetching Teddy from school is strange and thrilling. Draco stands, watching to make sure the smaller children go off with their guardians, and Harry doesn’t notice the fine suit he wears. He’s too busy recalling the way Draco had gone to his knees—looking up with those clear grey eyes as his pink lips stretched around the girth of Harry’s hard cock. 

“Harry,” Teddy’s excited voice snaps him out of his remembered fantasy. 

“Hmmm.” Harry glances down. Teddy’s staring up at him expectantly, as if he’s said something other than Harry’s name, and he swallows. Wondering how he can ask Teddy to repeat himself without letting on he wasn’t listening. 

Teddy doesn’t give him the chance. He sighs as if he’s a disappointed adult and Harry’s the brat who was doing something he shouldn’t have. “I asked if you are taking me to the winter carnival?” 

“What winter carnival?” 

Teddy’s frown is so deep he creates wrinkles in his young forehead—reminding Harry strongly of Remus. 

Draco 

Potter shouldn’t look as appealing as he does in grey joggers and an absurd hoodie. His hair is a wild mess of disarray—even still Draco wants to bury his nose into the dark strands, inhale the rich masculine scent of Potter. Thinking of breathing him in reminds Draco of when he was on his knees, staring up at Potter as he took that beautiful cock all the way down his throat. The tip of his nose brushing the fragrant, coarse hair that surrounded the base of Potter’s cock. 

His mouth waters at the memory. 

Something he kicks himself for when one of his students pulls on the hem of his sleeve. “Mr Malfoy,” she says. Draco nearly startles out of his skin. 

“Audrey. Yes, what can I do for you?” His heart beats so fast beneath his chest. Draco’s certain he must be blushing, for his cheeks feel hot. As does the back of his neck and the tips of his small ears. 

“My mummy is very late,” she replies with a timid tone. Causing Draco to scan the area—noticing that indeed she is the last student with him. A frown of concern dips down the corners of his mouth, and he leads Audrey inside. 

“Let’s ring her at the Floo. I’m sure it’s nothing bad,” he tells Audrey with a kind tone and smile. 

“Mummy is never late,” she swallows. Her big blue eyes overbright with upset, and he takes her small hand into his. A gesture meant to reassure her that he won’t let anything bad happen to her, and Audrey looks up at him with a sweet, trusting smile. 

For a moment, Draco is struck by how surreal this life is. A child in his world—a world he failed often as a young man—believes in him. 

_ How far you’ve come, Malfoy. _

*

Audrey’s mum was held up at hospital—her own mother has had a mild collapse, and she’d forgotten to ring the school in the chaos. 

“Nothing too terrible,” Mrs Monroe assures when Draco asks after Audrey’s grandmother. “She’d let a cold get a little too bad—I think I’ve yelled at her enough for her to understand that she’s not as young as she once was.” 

Draco smiles, thinking of his own mother. Wishing she were still around for him to reprimand. Broken hearts are just as deadly as untreated colds—perhaps worse. 

“I am so sorry, again, Mr Malfoy,” Mrs Monroe says again as Draco follows her to the school’s Floo’s. 

“It was no inconvenience to me, I assure you. I am just glad everyone is safe and in good health.” 

“Old bint better be careful or I’m going to have her in my spare room faster than she can Apparate,” Mrs Monroe says with a stern face—an expression that Draco reads as exasperation more than annoyance. 

He grins. “She’s lucky to have a good daughter.” 

“Tell her that, will you?” Then Audrey waves, thanking Draco from where she’s lying against her mother’s jumper covered shoulder. 

In a flash of green flames they leave, and Draco is left wondering about who will yell at him when he’s old and not properly minding himself. 

Not for the first time, he wonders if it was a foolish mistake to decide against fathering children of his own. 

_ Let the name die with me_. 

A thought he puts out of his mind as he collects his bag and puts out the candles in his classroom. 

*

Potter is waiting for him outside of his flat’s door. Leant against the bright teal paint of it as he grins at Draco. 

Like he belongs here. 

As if he can waltz into Draco’s life whenever he feels the desire. 

“Thought you were training,” Draco says as he approaches. Trying to be unaffected. 

“Got done.” Potter shrugs, his grin growing wider, sharper and Draco is caught before he can try to escape. 

*

Potter lights a cigarette, sitting naked with his legs thrown over the edge of Draco’s bed. “I didn’t know you smoked?” Draco says, sitting up as best as he can when his body’s gone to jelly from the force of Potter’s lusts. He grins when he notices the bracelets of bruises in his wrists. 

“Once in a while.” Potter gives one of his casual shrugs. “Dudley doesn’t like it when I do. Says it fucks with my stamina.” 

Draco tenses, his heart thundering at the mention of another man in Potter’s life. One who is allowed to dictate some of Potter’s behaviours. “Oh,” is all he can think to say in response. 

“Yeah he’s a right cunt, that one,” Potter chuckles—sounding fond about this man. But Draco doesn’t have long to worry over that. Not when Potter snuffs out his cigarette and moves his strong body with the grace of a wild cat—covering Draco with his form while wearing the sort of grin that promises devious delights. 

“Is he more annoying than me?” Draco asks, stupidly wanting to know more about this Dudley, even when he has Potter staring down at him like _ that_. 

Potter’s smile turns teasing—a playfulness in the expression that Draco’s learning to appreciate. “No one is more annoying than you, Malfoy,” but he punctuates his words by capturing Draco’s mouth with a kiss. Making Draco wonder if he’s meant his words as a compliment. 

Something in Draco’s heart stutters—painfully—but he pushes the feeling of unease away. Content to be in this moment as much as possible. 

*

Pansy is perched on her sofa in a black peignoir set made of flimsy lace and fine silk. A mimosa is sat at her immediate left, untouched, as she narrows her blue eyes at Draco while she sucks down a cigarette. 

“He’s already got a partner?” she finally says as she snuffs her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray. 

So much judgment in her words causes Draco to bristle. “You make your living by being the kept whore of married men, Pansy. How is this different?” 

“It’s Potter,” she replies, with a pragmatic tone. “I don’t love the blokes who pay for my company.” 

“I don’t love him,” Draco protests. Yet it’s weak. 

Pansy’s grin is pitying. “Don’t you though?” 

He slouches in his seat, defeated by the truth he doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

“Darling,” Pansy says with a gentleness she’s not normally known for. “You have to stop before you hurt yourself even more.” 

Draco swallows, wondering if that’s an option at this point. 

Harry

Days have gone by without a word from Draco, and something in Harry’s skin itches for the feel of him. A growing addiction he’s having a hard time satisfying alone. So he sits besides Ron—at a Cannons match, with Teddy bouncing between them—daydreaming of digging his fingers into the soft yielding flesh of Draco’s round arse. 

He doesn’t even try to keep Teddy home when Ron says there’s a dinner at The Burrow that evening. Harry waves them off glad of the excuse to race to Malfoy’s posh flat. 

The wards allow him in, and he grins as he sneaks down the front corridor. Harry’s aiming to surprise Draco, his cock is already hard at the idea of Draco going to his knees in his usual eager way. 

Only as he approaches the sitting room, Harry hears a low groan that causes him to frown. An expression that deepens when a sharp gasp follows. 

At the open arch to the room, he sees them—Draco and a large, beefy man writing together. 

“God, harder,” Draco demands in that voice that haunts Harry’s more pleasant dreams. “Don’t be gentle,” he pleads and it sounds like he’s craving punishment. 

Harry feels sick to his stomach. Wretched and broken he stumbles back, away from the sight of them, and it hurts him to know Draco hadn’t even noticed his presence. 

Drawing in a shaky breath of cold winter air, Harry realises he’s near crying and he grits his jaw—willing the emotions down, away where they cannot hurt him. 

_ You should know better, Potter. _ A voice that sounds like Ron’s whispers through his mind. _ Malfoy will never change. He was never meant for you. _

*

The scene of Malfoy beneath another bloke fills his waking moments. So fully that when he’s in an important match he forgets what he’s doing. 

A stupid mistake that costs him his consciousness. 

Down into blackness, Harry tumbles while a chorus of shouts fades away. 

Draco 

Teddy doesn’t come to school for a few days so Draco makes a house visit—even though he’s been steadily trying to ignore Potter’s existence. 

The door is opened by a large man with blond hair and beady blue eyes. “Yeah?” he asks and Draco swallows—afraid to speak for fear of one of those giant fists crushing him. 

“Teddy was absent from school, I was coming by to see if everything was all right,” Draco finally says, after gathering his bearings. 

“Oh, right, school,” the man says absently. “I wasn’t sure how to get him there, to be honest.” He steps aside to allow Draco into Potter’s flat. “Drink?” He offers. 

“Thank you,” Draco replies with a curious frown. “Where’s Potter?” He asks as he follows the man into Potter’s kitchen. 

“Hospital. Had a nasty accident during a fight in Berlin.” The man starts the fire on the hob with some kind of wand that has a trigger on it. “Didn’t realise they couldn’t just magic him back quickly.” He turns to face Draco. “Ron and Hermione have been a great help, and I’ve imposed enough as is on them. But I s’pose I’ll have to impose more and ask them to get Teddy to school.” 

Draco frowns. “Are you unable to get him there?” He glances around, “I’m sure you could send him by Floo if coming yourself is too difficult.”

“No, sorry.” He rubs at the back of his thick neck with a large hand. “Guess I didn’t explain. I’m an...erm ...what’s the word? Meggle or however you say.” 

“Muggle,” Draco says. Finally catching on.

“Yeah, can’t magic at all. So, guess someone who can will have to be responsible for Teddy.” 

“How do you know Potter?” Draco asks—overstepping boundaries he normally wouldn’t. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the man says. “Forgot to introduce myself, I’m Dudley Dursley.” 

Draco blanches. _ This is Dudley. _ His mind goes blank at the appearance of this Muggle. _ This _is what Potter loves? 

Dudley is saying more, but Draco blurts, “How long have you been partners?” He flushes at his own forwardness, but this man doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Partners?” Dudley asks with a frown, “Is that what you lot call it here?” 

“What would you call it,” Draco replies—his voice just this side of waspish. 

“Trainer, I suppose, but partner works—I guess. Anyways, since we were twenty. Harry recruited me from a rubbish gym,” he leans back against the counter having a good chuckle at the memory. Draco aches from how happy he seems. 

_ Why is it him and not me? _he wonders. The vain part of himself wanting to destroy everything of this Dudley, and he’s ashamed at his own ugliness. 

“Where is Potter?” Seems the safest thing Draco can say without breaking down. 

“Your hospital,” Dudley replies as he takes the whistling kettle off the hob. “Teddy might be with him. If you’d like to go up there to visit you’re welcome to.” 

_ Don’t trust me so easily, I covet all you have. _Draco thinks even as he thanks Dudley for his time. 

*

St Mungo’s is as dreary as it’s ever been when Draco walks through its silent halls, towards Potter’s private room. 

He thinks about his mother withering away here and about how he’d had to send his father a letter about her when she reached the end of the line. He still wonders if his father wept, or if he’d done as Draco had—staring at a wall with overwhelming numbness. 

It’s what Draco feels now as he stands in the threshold of Potter’s room. Watching as Potter lies on a hospital bed, appearing so fragile. 

“He’s just had a sleeping draught,” one of the Healer Aids tells him as she moves out of the room. 

“Potter,” Draco whispers—lump in his throat—as he takes a seat on Potter’s bed. Bolder than he would be if Potter were awake. “God,” he says, reaching out to brush gentle fingers through Potter’s unruly fringe. 

Silence envelops the room, swallowing them both in its heavy hold. Draco hates it. “I’ve missed you,” he confesses. “I shouldn’t, not when you’ve got a man as kind as Dudley.” Draco gives a self-deprecating laugh. “I hate him, you know? I hate how he gets you. All of you. Not just your marvellous cock.” 

Draco thinks of all that he wants with Potter. Early morning kisses, breakfast with Teddy, evenings reading about Quidditch. There’s so much he wants. So much he doesn’t deserve. 

“Be happy, Potter,” Draco says with finality. 

As he stands a tight grip wraps around his slim wrist. 

A thick, groggy voice grumbles, “Who is my man?” 

Harry 

He hadn’t wanted to face Draco so he’d pretended to be heavily in the hold of sleep. A coward’s way, but Harry hadn’t wanted to admit all of the hurt he’d felt as he’d watched another claim what he felt was his. 

His despite the fact he’d been too cautious to put a name to what they were. 

Now, as he listens to Draco confess strange beliefs Harry realises they are both idiots and words could’ve saved them from this ridiculousness. 

Draco’s pale eyebrows furrow as he says, “Dudley. He’s your partner, Potter.” 

“The fuck he is,” Harry shouts, throat raw still from disuse these past few days. “That beefy idiot is my cousin and my trainer.” Then, after calming himself, he adds, “Have you looked at the guy? Sure, I bet he’s attractive to some, but he’s not my type.” 

Draco’s pulse is fast beneath Harry’s fingers and he tries to be soothing when he says, “I think you know what my type is by now, Malfoy.” 

Pale lips tremble and Harry wants to kiss away the fears on that beautiful mouth when Draco whispers, “I can’t love you if you won’t give me everything, it hurts too much, Harry.”

Grinning, Harry whispers, “Come have it all, Draco. It was yours the moment you sucked me off with that perfect mouth. God, you could tempt Christ with those skills.” 

Somehow, Draco manages a weak laugh. 

Draco 

“I think you’re too hurt to do this,” he protests as Potter flicks his wrist to lock the door of his private room. 

“Shut up." Potter laughs. “Ride me and I’ll be all right.” 

“We’ll get caught.” Draco frowns, but he’s still not saying no. 

“If you keep stalling we will now come on. I need in you.” Potter sounds desperate for him, and it’s flattering. Especially after all of the doubt he’s been stewing in these last few weeks. 

The desire in those green eyes melt him and Draco hikes up his robes as he straddles Potter’s firm lap. “If you die on me...” he trails off with a warning tone. 

With a wicked grin, Potter husks, “I’ll die the happiest man on earth.”

“And it’ll give Teddy more reason to hate me.” Draco snorts—holding himself open as he gets Harry into position. Handy being at hospital, there’s plenty of things to use as slick. 

“Teddy doesn’t hate you.” Potter laughs. A sound that turns into a groan when Draco lowers himself onto Potter’s hard cock. It’s a delicious stretch. One that nameless bloke couldn’t replicate when Draco was stupid and tried to fuck Potter out of his system. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Draco whispers as he rocks his hips. “Kid still won’t look me in the eye most days.” 

“It’s because he’s got a crush on you,” Potter confesses as he grips Draco’s hips. “Now, let's leave that conversation because I’ve got a bigger need for you than anyone else.” Something in Potter’s tone is possessive and Draco grins at his ridiculousness. 

“Don’t be jealous—I’m not interested in children. I’m only interested in you,” Draco whispers against Potter’s ear. Dragging his teeth over the skin of Potter’s earlobe. 

“You are mine, Malfoy,” Potter is rough with him, biting at his wrist when Draco cups his cheek. 

“Forever, Potter.” 

Epilogue 

Teddy skulks around the new flat, frowning at all of the furniture Draco carefully selected for their new home. Harry gave in to every request. Easy to do when Draco would plead so prettily. Now, he’s concerned he’s somehow cocked it all up. 

“Mate,” he says, crouching to Teddy’s level. “Do you want to go back home?” The old flat isn’t sold yet, there is still time. 

Big eyes widen, and there’s something fearful on Teddy’s face when he says, “Without Draco?” 

“Well,” Harry starts slowly, trying to be gentle. “If you’re not happy then I won’t be with Draco. You come before everything.” He can see Draco lingering just beyond the open wall that leads to their formal sitting area. A posh addition that was a requirement of Harry’s high maintenance boyfriend. A necessity that annoyed Harry less after he’d pinned Draco to the ridiculous mantle surrounding that particular fireplace and fucked him filthy their first night in this flat. A memory he squashes down when he focuses on his kid. 

“I don’t want Draco to leave,” Teddy admits slowly.

Harry smiles, pulling Teddy into a firm hug, “I don’t want him to leave either. I love him. A lot, actually.” 

“More than me?” Teddy narrows his eyes. Eyes that have taken on a greyer hue these days. 

“I’ll never love anyone the way I love you, you’re my son,” Harry tells him earnestly. When Teddy squeezes his arms around Harry’s neck Harry adds. “And I’ll never love anyone the way I love Draco. He’s my person.” As he pats Teddy’s back Harry asks, “Do you understand what I mean?” 

“Yeah,” Teddy mumbles. “I think he’s too pretty to be your person, though. Shoulda been mine.” 

Harry chuckles. “Well, one day I’m sure you’ll find your person too.” 

“Okay,” Teddy concedes, releasing Harry with a put upon sigh. “I love Draco too, but I’ll love him like I love you.” 

Grinning Harry says, “Why don’t you tell him that when he comes home, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Teddy agrees after a considering glance. 

“So, are you excited for Year Two,” Harry asks to try and shift their conversation into something that Teddy won’t mind Draco walking in on. 

“No,” Teddy shouts. “It’s gonna be the worst year of all, and I’m going to hide my bag better when it starts.” Then he takes off for the stairs. Septimus follows him with loud, happy barks—excited to play chase—and Harry deflates. 

That’s how Draco finds him, and Harry grins—content—when Draco says, “Lucky for you, Potter, I’m excellent at finding hidden things.” 

“Really?” he teases with fingers on Draco’s bum, “I’ve got something you might need to help me find later.” 

Draco’s answer is a delicious kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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